Dance of the Court
by Nerikla
Summary: There are two of half-noble blood who reside at Buckkeep Castle. The fate of the Six Duchies lies in their hands. Court is a tricky thing, a dangerous whirl, a fatal addiction. If one of them falters, then the world will crumble. Second chapter up!
1. A Dangerous Tool

Dance of the Court

Chapter One__

  
  


_The Skill magic is one possessed by many of the Farseer line. Though it is not rare for others of strained Farseer lineage to possess the Skill, none have been officially recognized for over three decades. Only the nobility of the Farseers may be taught by the Skillmaster, unless the magic of another is particularly strong, and the need for a coterie is great._

  


_- Privacy and Privilege, by Skillmaster Jubileena_

  


________

I can hear the music.

It is a wistful sound, straying always at the edge of my conscience. It tugs at me, lulling me into a false state of security. The plucking of this Skill music drives me to the edge of insanity. I can only listen to it the way one keeps something dangerous in their peripheral vision. If I turn to face the melody, I will be swept away into the Skill stream, my mind and soul sucked away from me and plunged into the deadly mental river of pure magic. I would be left a great, drooling babe, my body unmoving, performing only the necessary functions needed to survive. I would have no control over my body. My mind would be lost amongst the murmurs and whispered promises and powerful rush of the Skill.

I would Forge myself.

The Skill stream is one of unimaginable pleasure. Braver hearts than I have plunged into it, unable to resist the temptation.

They have all died.

Some say the Skill is a blessing, and others view those who possess it with jealousy. But I know the truth.

The Skill is a tool that may be wielded to protect my sovereign and the Farseer line.

A dangerous tool, yes; but a tool all the same.

  


______

  


We must rise early for Skill training. Always it is done in the High Tower, once known as Verity's Tower to those who loved him in the days of old. I rise earlier than most - in addition to Skill lessons, weapons training with Tope, countering with court life and seamlessly executing my duties as an emissary of my bloodline, I am also training to be an assassin.

But such is the fate of the bastards of the Farseer line. 

I was offered a choice, and informed that if I accepted, I would be killing people for my Queen. Lanton never minced his words. I would be a murderer, but I would also be doing so for the crown, which would make the deaths correct. Not noble, and not right, but simply correct. 

At the age of three I was returned to Buckkeep Castle by my mother. A pale Bearns woman, she had coddled me as a toddler simply because I reminded her of my father. King Merry was a man as free with his heart as he was with his sword. I am not his only bastard.

Queen Vigilance has never approved of her husband's lusty ways, even now that he is deceased. It was a hunting accident, they told me, and I believe them still. There are some promises that a boy must cling to, in order to keep his head above the treachery and secrecy that a royal court always contains.

I am pledged to my Queen, and to her true-blooded sons after they inherit the throne. At six she claimed me not as her half-son, but as a faithful servant to her reign. She has bound me with the promise that she will always see I am clothed and fed and educated. Sometimes I wonder why she did not acknowledge me as her son - such a thing would have bound me to her regardless of empty promises. I suspect that it is painful for her to think of me as such.

So I began my training, a six and half year old learning the uses of poisons and the quickest ways to kill a man. At first my tasks began simply - I was to cause a thread to dangle from Lady Whimsy's sleeve, without her noticing. I was to carefully remove all of the yeast from the bustling kitchens, so that the bread would have to be baked flat for that night's feast. Again and again I proved my loyalty to my Queen, and was repeatedly tested.

Lanton is the one training me in my assassin's work. He has the dark eyes and skin of a Farseer, but his brown hair is very light and the angle of his jaw is such that he could look very pleasant if he tried. He has a short temper but a kind heart. One of the reasons I fall so earnestly into my studies is because I want to please him. Lanton is still the closest thing I have ever had to a father.

My half-brothers have always been aware of my presence, though Prince Heedful has never felt an overt fondness for me. I often catch his dark eyes on my back, and it is all I can do not to shrink back from his gaze. Prince Gracious is not so intimidating - as children, we often played together. He is younger than his lanky brother by almost four years.

There is another bastard at court, though I see little of him. He and I may exchange courteous words, though I have often caught his gaze lingering wistfully on Queen Vigilance. I will not begrudge him that - often I have wondered if I would not be another person entirely, if a loving mother had raised me.

But wishing is not becoming of a bastard. 

It is not becoming of an assassin, either.

It is odd, serving as a diplomat to the Farseers. While I verbally carry out the will of my Queen, I also drop poisons into crystal cups and whisper honeyed words that could sway the opinion of a ruffled Lord. Though my lineage is obvious in the proudly spaced features of my face and the dark coloring of my hair, my eyes are shaped differently and my nose is smaller than the others of my line. At a glance one can tell me for a bastard. Lanton says that I will regret that fact some day.

I suspect that Lanton is also a bastard. I think he is about forty years old, but his eyes are bright yet. When I was younger he seemed ancient to me, but now I see him as a man in his prime, flattering nobles at court and then spying on them in the secret chambers woven throughout the castle. He also functions as an advisor to the royal family. He is in so many places at once and knows so much that at times I fear for him. However, few know that he is truly an assassin. Most see him as a low yet handsome noble of the court. Many other courtiers resemble the Farseers, as the offshoots of the line have become widespread. If they see the telling brow on Lanton's face, they do not remark upon it.

"Hand me the goat's leaf, boy," Lanton requests softly, his eyes intent on the concoction bubbling over the fire before him. I have ground many leaves and flowers into special piles, and now must brush them onto a thin sheet of paper, which he carefully adds to his brew.

It bubbles some more, becoming so frothy that the color seems white. He stirs in another pile without asking for it, and the brew goes completely transparent.

Together we put out the flames beneath the cauldron, and watch the bubbling liquid cool down, the bubbling noises slowing and finally ceasing. As we wait Lanton turns to me with a smile that tells he is extremely pleased with himself. "How has your Skill training been going, boy?"

"Well," I reply with a vague smile. Lanton was once trained in the Skill, but for some reason he can longer use it. I have tried groping at him before with a tendril of the Skill and sense only an empty place where his magic once filled him. He will not tell me what happened to him, and I will not ask.

"You get along to your bed, now. You'll have a good hour's sleep before you need to wake," He tells me, almost gently. There is genuine fondness in his gaze. He turns back to his concoction, pulling on a pair of thick gloves. In one hand he holds a glass vial, and pours the silvery liquid into it using a wrought iron ladle. I am certain I do not want to know what we have just created. I will probably help him use it later.

"Thank you, sir," I say respectfully, bobbing my head. For a boy of thirteen years I am willing to accept any amount of sleep that I am rewarded with.

Carefully I creep along the dusty, dark passages, past hidden peep-holes and secret entrances. I finally find the entrance into my own chamber, and gently trigger the hidden door. It opens silently and I slip through, into the darkness of my impersonal chamber. I set my candle on my night stand and go through the motions of checking the order of my chamber. A threat can be hidden anywhere. I am always careful to leave my room slightly messy - it is easy to tidy a spotless room, but it can be hard for a trespasser to recall exactly the pattern of the folds of my bedspread, or precisely how the sleeve of my shirt looked as it trailed to the floor. Once I am certain there is no threat, and that I have not failed a test set for me by Lanton, I tug off my soft sheepskin boots and gratefully collapse into bed.

I am not finished. Ensuring that my Skillwalls are in place, I seal them tightly. I fall into the space between dreams and sleep. It is a black, unrestful area for my mind to be in, but at least when I am there the Skill stream cannot tempt me. I am afraid that one day I will give in to its sweetness, to its offer of the ability to simply let go of who I am and what I do. 

As an assassin for the Farseer crown, I am a useful tool, especially because I possess the Skill. But I am also a dangerous tool.

Fortunately for me, my enemies have not yet realized this.

Nor has my Queen.

  


______

  


Author's Note: This is a crossover between Newsies and Robin Hobb's books. I will update as soon as I can, especially if it is well-received. XD


	2. Always So Formal

Dance of the Courts

Chapter Two

  
  


_Three times hence, three times then_

_Round and round they chased the hen_

_Feathers dropping, squeals and squawks_

_The neighbors had began to talk_

  


_Witted one, running round_

_Grinding faces to the ground_

_Burning, writhing, yellow flash_

_And Witted one is burned to ash_

  


- _Witted Woman and her Hen, by Minstrel Lungfish_

______

"Can you smell it when he Skills?" Prince Heedful was suddenly far away from me, standing at the window. He stared out, his dark eyes fixed on the distant sea that glittered in the early morning sun. We had been at the tower for longer than I had realized, and once our Skill lesson was done, Prince Gracious had hurried off to a riding session with several lesser nobles wishing to court his favor. The other two in our class had also left, leaving me alone with my hateful half-brother.

I did not know how to reply. "Smell what, my prince?"

"Don't call me that," He retorted sharply, his eyes narrowing. Never once did he turn to face me.

"Then what would you have me call you?" I asked boldly, my eyes flashing. I was never able to keep my tongue in check around Heedful.

Silence greeted my question. I sensed more than saw him inhale sharply. "The scent of his Skill, boy. It is rotten, it...stinks. Yet I'm not sure of what. It reeks, of something dirty and decomposing...but what is it? What does it mean?"

Having a youth only six years my senior address me as 'boy' cut deeply. I had to leave - it was nearly time for my weapons training, and Tope refused to excuse lateness for anyone but the Queen. I drifted towards the door. To exit from the Tower, one had to descend an impossible number of stairs. My legs ached as I thought of running to training immediately after that painful descent.

"My prince, I must leave," I said urgently, needing to be dismissed. Once Heedful engaged me in conversation, I was bound by manners to remain until he released me.

"For now, go. But you know as well as I do that you can never leave," Prince Heedful said softly, his shoulders slumping downwards. I took that as an odd dismissal and hurried down the stairs, trying not to think about his words. The phrase bit and stung at my mind like small bugs at the ankles. I couldn't let it go, no matter how much my body wanted me to. Every step jarred my feet, leaving me at the bottom of the staircase, feeling disoriented and angry. I hurried to the training grounds, praying to Eda that I wouldn't be late.

______

The Wit is a magic feared by many folk. It allows a human to bond to an animal partner; mind and soul. Those who grow up Witted refer to themselves as Old Blood, insisting that to be Witted was once the natural state of the human species. Now, however, the Witted are mistrusted and persecuted. It is said the only way to kill a Witted one completely without enabling them to change into an animal is to hang them, draw and quarter their body into four pieces, and then suspend each piece separately over a tub of water until it decays.

Prince Heedful had always been superstitious. He feared what he did not understand - which was not always a quality desirable in a prince, but at least he was cautious, unlike his father. Our father, really, though I had been taught to never verbally declare it so.

I raced through the hallways, nearly upending a chamber maid who screamed and waved a fist after me. I hastily tugged at my sleeves to make them seem longer and darted onto the training grounds, where a group of three youth were waiting. Blink, my fourteen year old sparring partner, winked at me. He had lost his other eye from a disease that had killed half of Tilth. He quickly tossed me my heavy, blunted practice sword. I caught it with both hands, trying to quietly slip behind Mush, a tall, dark curly-haired boy. 

"You're late," Tope scowled, his deep-set eyes disapproving.

"I'm sorry, sir. Prince Heedful wanted a word with me," I bowed my head, hoping to sound particularly contrite. Tope rapped me once, hard, on the top of my head with his knuckles.

"Our prince wouldn't speak to you," My Weapons Master sneered. My half-brother's dislike of me was public knowledge. Tope knew perfectly well that Heedful wasn't below belittling me in the hallway. I blushed, looking down uncomfortably.

In a surprisingly kind gesture, Tope dismissed us to work on our form. Mush always paired off with Racetrack, a stable boy whom Lord Jade had taken a liking to, and so had promoted to the status of page. Racetrack was the oldest page in Buckkeep Castle, but he worked harder than all the others combined.

Blink and I began with a series of lunges and blocks. I was already tired and it was telling - my reaction time began to slow almost immediately. Finally I begged for a moment and we withdrew, panting heavily.

"Try coming here on time," Blink teased, grinning as he watched me pant. I tried to glare but the effect was more a pathetic side-glance than an expression of malice. He laughed, the loud sound attracting Tope's attention.

"Enough, enough. You two, come back tomorrow an hour early." I opened my mouth to protest that it would interfere with my Skill lessons, but Tope raised a finger. "I will speak to your Skillmaster, boy, to see that he agrees. Dismissed." He shouted the last word to attract the attention of the other two sparring boys.

Blink gave a loud whoop as soon as we were a safe distance from Tope. I snickered and he thumped me on the back. I still didn't have enough breath to form words, so I just made a face at him and continued to walk to the kitchens.

As I listened to Blink chatter, I smelled something. It wasn't rank, like Prince Heedful had suggested. Instead, it smelled...soft, like the coat of newborn puppy. 

Cook shooed us out of the kitchens after allowing us each a sweetcake, and I realized that I hadn't smelled the puppy-softness with my nose. Instead, the scent had been in my mind.

_Heedful is too rash, _Someone in my mind laughed. I recognized the voice - it was Prince Gracious.

_If you say so, my prince,_ I replied formally. He loved to catch me unawares with the Skill. I realized that Blink had asked me something and was looking at me expectantly.

_Always so formal,_ Gracious said, almost sadly. _These are the only moments when I don't have to worry about looking and sounding correct._

I softened mentally, and made a noncommital sound to both of them.

______

I was always straddling the edge of court life as a bastard. What others could experience freely was not something allowed to me, and in turn I enjoyed luxuries that most people did not.

And yet, always in the back of my mind, I was bitter.

My Queen saw me as a tool, something to be used. The only person I felt I could truly trust was Blink, but even he did not know that I was an assassin.

I caught my bastard brother staring at me that night. I was seated at my usual table, one rather beneath my station, with the stable boys and apprentices. My bastard brother, Dutchy, had bright blonde hair and the dark eyes of a Farseer. He wore spectacles, an odd sight at Court. He was my Queen's creature, a plaything of hers. Always he strove to be worthy of her, and fell short.

Dutchy was my Queen's fool. I believe only the two of us know how deeply that insult burned. Yes, he was a little odd looking, if only because his hair was so white and his skin lacked the dark coloring of the Farseer line. He dressed in motley, standing behind the Queen as she ate.

At night, I felt the pluckings of the Skill at my mind. Always, I set my mental walls tight, sealing them as best I could. My Skillmaster said I had remarkably strong mental barriers. 

Yet the plucking continued.

_Come, _it called. _Come to me._

I did not know who spoke to me, calling so sweetly. The voice was gentle and soothing, but I did my best to ignore it. It sounded as though the one speaking meant me no harm, but I knew better.

At night, I was always afraid. 

______

Author's Note: I changed the tense, if anyone noticed. I think it works better this way. And now, for the *gasp* shout outs! To the truly awesome people who read my stories and review for me:

_Keza:_ Look, I updated! And thanks for the sweet comments! You should definitely read Robin Hobbs' books, they're so good. The only things I'm borrowing from the books are the magics and the lands. I hope to update soon! *glomps*

_Gothic Author:_ Aww, thank you! I really hope you keep reading. And I hope you liked this tense - it makes the story somewhat less lyrical, but ah well, such is the way things are. *hugs*

_Rumor: _You caught the dark and mysterious vibe! Yes! *high five* I hope certain parts of this chapter were mysterious enough. *grins* 

_Pesky: _So God? Why, thank you. Yes, I am God. *giggles* Seriously, I love you. You're the coolest.

...end shout outs! Please read and review!


End file.
